by Mary Stone
“What kind of idiot does that?” The exasperation in Lucy’s voice was plain. “What kind of certifiable, out of touch moron just shows up out of the blue to ask for a favor from the kid he threw to the wayside almost thirty years ago?”
Though Lucy couldn’t see him, Noah shook his head. “Hell if I know. One that’s entitled. One that’s used to getting whatever in the hell they ask for.”
“Why didn’t he just get some of his Baltimore PD buddies to help him? A guy like Eric, you know he’s got to go golfing with half the precinct captains in the damn city. Why not go crawling to one of them?”
Noah slumped down in his seat. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s such an idiot that he sees this as some stupid way to try to bond with me.”
“You mean, something he’s shown zero interest in over the past thirty-two years?”
Lucy’s straightforward question felt like a slap to the face.
Not the type of slap that was underscored by anger, but the type a sibling used to bring their younger brother or sister to their senses. Until then, Noah hadn’t realized how much he’d actually bought into the rationalization.
Somewhere in his subconscious, he had convinced himself that Eric had shown up to obtain his special treatment from the FBI while also making a vain effort to mend the charred remnants of the bridge between him and his oldest son.
But Lucy was right.
That wasn’t how Eric Dalton operated, at least not when it came to his former family.
He opened and closed his mouth several times before he found his voice. “What do you mean?”
“Look, you know how I tried to get back in touch with him after I graduated high school, right?” Some of the sharpness in her tone had been replaced by weariness. “I thought that maybe if I was the one to put in the effort, I’d get something out of it. I figured maybe that was Eric’s hang-up, anyway. Maybe he just couldn’t get past that initial outreach. So, I did it for him, and look what I got out of it.”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly. Nothing. I guess that’s my point. Even when I was the one who put in the effort to get ahold of him, he didn’t give a shit. Short of him getting ass cancer and laying on his deathbed, I don’t know what in the hell would be enough to motivate him to mend fences with either of us.”
Noah thought he should have felt a twinge of sadness, of anger, of something at Lucy’s blunt observation, but there was just more nothing.
He was tired of the nothing.
“You think he’s up to something, don’t you?” he finally managed to ask.
“Yeah. I do. I don’t believe for a damn second that he’d come to Richmond to ask for your office’s help if he didn’t have an ulterior motive. He’d be at some fancy-ass restaurant with the chief of the Baltimore PD asking for their help, but instead, he’s in Virginia. It doesn’t make any sense.”
As he scratched the side of his face, Noah mulled over the words. “No. It doesn’t.”
Her next statement chilled him the bone.
“Be careful around him.”
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he took in a deep breath. “Yeah, I will.”
He didn’t have to press the issue any further. He knew what Lucy’s warning meant.
Right now, Eric was a cornered animal. He was desperate.
And desperation brought out the worst in anyone.
13
Aiden had decided to attend the briefing in Violent Crimes that morning as much to keep himself in the loop of the goings-on around the office as anything. As of now, the Behavioral Analysis Unit hadn’t been involved in the Eric Dalton case. But now that a kidnapping had been thrown into the mix, his department’s role was likely to change.
Aside from the update about Natalie Falkner and her husband’s potential abduction, not much of the information provided by Max Osbourne was new to Aiden. Eric was Noah Dalton’s biological father, but any time the man was mentioned in detail, there was an unmistakable glint of petulance in Noah’s green eyes.
In all honesty, Aiden could relate. He was eight years younger than his brother, and ten years younger than his sister. He’d never been especially close to either of his siblings, but the age difference wasn’t the only culprit in their emotional distance from one another.
His mother had divorced their father after years of physical and emotional abuse, but when she married Aiden’s biological father, her situation hadn’t improved much. Aiden didn’t have any memories of his father, but he was glad for the lack of the man’s involvement in his life. From the stories he’d heard from his brother and sister, the guy had been just as big a piece of shit as their father.
Amy Parrish had a knack for picking out the worst possible men. She’d caught a break for close to ten years when she was with Mark Avery, but she had eventually left Mark for another abusive asshole.
Until Mark passed away from an aggressive form of lung cancer, he and Aiden had stayed in communication. As far as Aiden was concerned, Mark was the only real father figure he’d ever had.
So, he could sympathize with Noah Dalton. He and the taller man didn’t have much in the way of common ground, but now, Aiden had started to second-guess the assertion. Maybe he and Noah weren’t as different as he’d initially assumed.
Max’s gravelly voice snapped him out of the contemplation and back to the briefing room.
“Agent Black, Agent Stafford.” The SAC glanced from Bree to Winter. “You’re both headed to Baltimore in a couple hours. You’re going to help them with the investigation into Natalie’s alleged abduction. Their office is stretched thin as it is, and it only seems fair that we pull our own weight. Otherwise, that’s it. Dismissed.”
As Aiden looked over to Winter, there was an unmistakable glint of indignation behind her blue eyes. He didn’t have to stretch his imagination far to know that the irritability had to do with her brother’s case.
Before she could make her way out into the hall behind Bree Stafford as the room cleared, he cleared his throat. “Agent Black.”
Winter spun around until her bright eyes met his.
“A word?” He gestured to the door as he offered her an expectant look.
To his relief, the exasperation had waned by the time she eased the door closed and turned to face him.
Leaning against the edge of the sturdy rectangular table, he crossed both arms over his chest. “You’re pissed because Osbourne sent you to Baltimore, aren’t you?”
Shadows shifted along her face as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. Finally, she shook her head. “It’s part of the case. I’ll go where I’m needed most. It’s fine.”
“Really? Could’ve fooled me.” As she opened her mouth to offer a rebuttal, he raised a hand. “I know you’re itching to wrap up the Eric Dalton case so you can focus on the search for your brother. But here’s the thing about that. Forensics hasn’t even finished processing what they picked up from that house. You know how they work, right? The most urgent cases first?”
Another flicker of irritation. Another jaw clench.
“They’re processing evidence so they can put away people who are actively murdering other people.” His tone was as flat as he could manage. “Don’t be pissed at them. They’ll get to it as soon as they can.”
She pushed a stray strand of hair away from her face with a grudging nod. “I know. And I know I have to go to Baltimore. I don’t plan to sneak away in the middle of the night or something, okay?”
“I didn’t think you were. But you need to go to Baltimore. And I mean all of you. You’re a damn fine investigator, and Bree can’t do this all on her own. I know this case seems straightforward right now, but…do you want my honest opinion?”
A look of puzzlement flitted over her face before she nodded. “Of course.”
“I think this is just the tip of the Eric Dalton iceberg. Now, I’m not as involved in this case as you are, but I think it’s just getting started. He’s tangled up with the Russians, right?”
Winter nodded again.
He let out a low whistle. “Nothing with the Russian mafia is ever straightforward. They aren’t some old-school, small-time Italian crime family that meets up in the back of a laundry mat like they’re in some ‘80s movie.”
Resting both hands on her hips, Winter sighed. “I know. It’s just…it seems like there’s so much going on right now, and me being in Maryland will make it even harder to keep up with.”
“You’re not moving there. You’ll be there for a day, two tops. By the time you get back, there ought to be an update from the lab. I’m still looking through everything we’ve kept track of up until now, and believe me, you’ll be the first person who’ll know if I find something.”
Winter rubbed at her forehead, and after a moment of quiet, her head dipped a little in what he could only hope was agreement.
Aiden straightened. The next piece of advice he had for her was more personal, and he hesitated. Winter’s love life wasn’t any of his business unless she wanted to make it his business, but he was nothing if not observant. He hadn’t missed the way she looked at Noah when she didn’t think anyone else was paying attention.
But to his continued surprise, he felt no pang of jealousy when he caught the reverent glances. She needed someone like Noah Dalton—someone who made her laugh, who didn’t remind her of her tumultuous past. Besides, his attention these days was fixed on a different woman.
He pushed the sentiment aside. “Look, I know that Dalton doesn’t show it, but he’s having a rough time right now. Just because he doesn’t like Eric Dalton doesn’t mean that the guy’s presence isn’t stressful. I’ve got personal experience in the shitty father arena, so trust me. Dalton…the son, he needs you right now.”
The steeliness vanished from her face, and the lack of it made her seem almost vulnerable. Tugging at the end of her neat braid, she nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Don’t worry about your brother’s case. Okay, maybe ‘don’t worry’ isn’t quite the right phrase, but let me worry about most of it, okay? You said that Autumn went with you to the house, so if I need to, I’ll reach out to her. We’ll handle it.”
Winter let out a long, low sigh, but the frustration she’d shown minutes earlier had faded. “Okay. Yeah, Autumn was there with me. She knows what’s going on. I’m sure she could work some of that psychologist magic to help you out.”
With a slight smile, he nodded. “I don’t doubt it. I’m still a little disappointed she didn’t take my job offer.”
Winter snorted a laugh as she reached for the door handle. “I was actually thinking the same thing when we were in Harrisonburg. It’s not too late, though. Call her in here, give her a tour. Act like you’re just going to talk to her about the case, but then shove a job offer on her lap. She told me how much she makes, so I can help you make her a competitive offer.”
In spite of his moment of worry, he laughed at the sarcasm. “I know. She told me too. I don’t think anyone here would ever let me offer her that much to work for a government agency.”
Snickering, Winter pulled open the glass and metal door. “Probably not, but you won’t know until you try.”
Though he’d never admit as much to Winter, her lighthearted comments put him more at ease than the entirety of their dialogue. Her tone and her demeanor were calm, and he had no doubt of her sincerity.
But on some level, the conclusion he’d drawn about Eric Dalton’s case was almost as disconcerting as the potential for Winter to go rogue in the search for Justin.
If another agent had asked him why or how he thought Eric’s debt to the Russians was a tangled web—the likes of which they’d only begun to unravel—he wouldn’t have been able to provide a suitable explanation.
He didn’t know how, he just knew.
He’d been doing this job long enough to realize when there was more to a story than met the eye.
Whatever in the hell it was, he would just have to wait and see.
Though Autumn had only spent a half day at the office of the psychological consultation firm where she worked, she was ready to fall asleep as soon as she walked through the door of her apartment. In the time she’d been employed at Shadley and Latham, she’d learned that she had a tendency to go after her work in one grueling session rather than space it throughout the week. And now that she’d finished the follow-up paperwork from the evaluations she’d conducted, she was out of work. For the moment, at least.
As she changed into a band t-shirt and a pair of running shorts, she wondered whether or not she should make an effort to break the habit. Though she liked to have free time at the end of the week, she came close to working herself to death on Mondays and Tuesdays.
After letting Toad outside to do his business, she heated up a hunk of the leftover baked ziti and went to lounge on the spacious couch. Once she’d finished her lunch, her eyelids soon grew heavy, and her thoughts ventured away from the realistic and into the realm of dreams.
When a sudden knock jerked her out of the light slumber, she took in a sharp breath. The rush of adrenaline dissolved any remaining haze of sleep, and in the midst of a moment of quiet panic, she glanced around the living room for a makeshift weapon.
I should really buy a gun. Or a sword. Or a bayonet. Something.
Her tussle with the hitman, Nico Culetti, hadn’t left her with much in the way of emotional distress, but she had become hyper-vigilant at virtually all hours of the day. Though Catherine Schmidt—the neurosurgeon turned serial killer who had kept tabs on Autumn for decades via a subdermal GPS monitoring device—was dead, Autumn didn’t think it was out of the realm of possibility to consider herself on the Russo family’s bad side. After all, she’d shot and killed one of their most reliable contract killers. She still couldn’t believe that she’d killed a man, or that she’d been able to even get the upper hand.
She’d learned some very important lessons from that experience. Never underestimate someone smaller and less powerful than you. And…the will to live was very strong.
With a groan, Autumn combed a hand through her disheveled hair as well as she could manage. Maybe if she ignored the knock, the person would go away.
Even though she expected it, she still jumped at the second knock.
So much for that.
Pushing herself to stand, she made an attempt to smooth her hair in the reflection of the television screen. “Just a second,” she called. Hopefully, the acknowledgment would be enough to keep them from knocking again.
Though Toad’s fluffy tail wagged back and forth at approximately fifty miles-per-hour, the little Pomeranian mix didn’t bark. Unless he was outside, Toad almost never barked.
She knelt down to scoop him up. Scratching behind one pointed ear, she looked at him and shook her head. “You’re the worst guard dog, Toad. If someone broke in here, you’d probably just help them carry all my shit out, wouldn’t you?”
His tongue lolled in an unspoken confirmation of her assessment.
Once she picked her way out of the living room and to the front door, she squinted at the peephole.
With a manila envelope under one arm, her visitor had tucked one hand into the pocket of his tailored suit jacket. As he glanced back to the hall, his pale blue eyes flitted back and forth. Not a single caramel brown hair out of place, Aiden Parrish looked as presentable as ever.
Before Autumn reached to the deadbolt, she glanced down at her shirt and shorts, then over to the hall that led to her room. If he hadn’t already been standing in front of her apartment for so long, there was a distinct possibility that she would have hurried to change back into the black pencil skirt and emerald blouse she’d worn to work.
Alas, the opportunity had passed.
Pushing back a sigh, she disengaged the lock and pulled open the door.
It might have been her imagination, but she thought his pale eyes lingered on her before he made his greeting. The unsolicited glance from any other man would have put her on g
uard, but she felt a flush rise to her cheeks as her pulsed picked up. She could only hope he wouldn’t spot the pink tinge on her cheeks in the low light.
She jerked herself out of the thoughts and waved him inside.
He stepped out of his shoes as she closed and locked the door. “I sent you a text message to let you know I was stopping by.”
Autumn knelt to deposit her dog on the floor. “Oh. I was asleep, and I never have the volume on my phone turned on unless I’m expecting something from work.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in a slight smile. “It kind of defeats the purpose of having a phone, doesn’t it?”
With a quick eye roll, she waved away the remark. “I just respond to people on my own time. There’s less pressure that way.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Pressure? To respond to a text message?”
Autumn huffed in a show of feigned exasperation. “You know what, I didn’t ask for you to critique my phone setting preferences, all right?”
Now, it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. That’s not why I’m here, anyway.” He paused at the entrance of the living room to lift the envelope. “This is.”
“Is that my rap sheet?” The sarcastic comment rolled off her tongue before she could reconsider.
To her relief, the self-deprecating quip only made his smile more pronounced. Autumn knew the man well enough to understand that an amused smile wasn’t an expression he often donned when he was in the presence of others. But when it was just the two of them, she had grown accustomed to the charming countenance.
“No, it’s not your rap sheet.” He flashed her a curious glance as he followed her to the kitchen. “Do you have a rap sheet?”
She tapped her temple. “No. I was clever enough not to get caught.”
He chuckled as he set the envelope down on the polished breakfast bar. “That’s a story I definitely want to hear. But, sadly, this isn’t the time. I need your help with something.”